Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted one of the extra servants Grandmama had hired for the evening reach over and pull a large serving spoon right off the end of the table. He dropped it directly into his pocket, neat as you please. Nicole blinked. The servant hadsome nerve. When he slipped out of the room soon after, her instincts took over. Meting out justice was ever so much more interesting than pretending to be enjoying a party, after all.
Being careful to stay back several paces so the thief wouldn’t be aware, she followed him out of the room and down the corridor to the stairway that led to the servants’ hall. At the entrance to the stairs, he glanced over both shoulders. Nicole pressed her back against the wall, holding her breath. The culprit proceeded to rush down the stairs and Nicole counted to ten before following him. She hid in the shadows near the bottom of the staircase and watched him hastily gather his things from a cubbyhole in the empty servants’ dining room. Then he made his way to another short set of stairs that led up and out onto the back stoop next to the gardens.
She counted ten again and followed him. By the time she reached the darkened gardens, the man was halfway across the yard, heading toward the wooden door under an archway that led to the mews. He was about to get away.
“Stop! Thief!” she called without thinking. She’d been much more dramatic and much less subtle back then.
Instead of stopping, the man took off running. Again without thought, she lifted her skirts and chased after him, her delicate satin slippers ripping against the gravel. Pausing to open the gate slowed him down and Nicole was only steps behind him as he raced across the alley toward the mews.
She was about to demand that he stop again when a shadow emerged from the darkness and tripped the servant easily.
Nicole stopped short and watched in awe as the shadow materialized into a man. A tall, broad-shouldered man. She took a step back and sucked in her breath.
The servant jumped up as if to continue his flight, but the man laid him flat with one solid punch to the head. The servant flew backward and remained prostrate on the gravel, snoring.
Nicole’s heart hammered in her chest.
“What did he steal?” A deep voice accompanied the shadow’s broad shoulders.
“A… a spoon,” she replied, swallowing hard, finally realizing she should be concerned for her safety. The servant could have hurt her and now she was out in the dark alone with a complete stranger who obviously had no compunction in committing violence. She wished she had brought her father’s pistol, only there had been no time to fetch it.
She eyed the shadow again. Her brain told her she should be frightened, but a thrill of excitement shot down her spine. This time she took a tentative step toward him, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face.
“A silver spoon,” she clarified. Too bad. It was too dark to see his features.
“Ah, the aristocracy does love its silver,” the deep voice said as the shadow bent down and rummaged through the servant’s pockets. A spray of light from the room above the mews cast a glow upon him. All she could see at the moment was his back. He wore a soldier’s uniform. That served to ease her nerves a bit. Surely a soldier wouldn’t harm her. Would he?
He located the spoon, stood, and offered it to her. Thelight played across his features then and Nicole sucked in her breath. Dark hair, darker eyes, a strong brow, perfectly straight nose, and the most heavenly firm lips anyone had ever been graced with. Good heavens. Since when did she look at men’s lips? Hmm. Perhaps since she’d noted how large and wet and bulbous the Marquess of Tinsley’s were. The marquess dabbed at them with his handkerchief often, never failing to make her shudder.Thisman’s lips, however, were the opposite. They were… kissable.
“I believe this is yours?” the soldier said, startling her from her indecent thoughts.
Nicole glanced down, realizing he’d been holding the spoon out to her the entire time.
“Oh, yes, yes, of course.” She reluctantly took the spoon from his hand. His fingers brushed over hers. They were both wearing gloves, but the contact still caused an unfamiliar and delightful pang in her middle.
“Looks as if someone will be in need of a new footman,” the handsome stranger said, pulling his hand to his side.
“Yes,” she answered inanely. She should thank him, turn, and rush back to the house as quickly as possible. She’d been reckless coming out here. She needed to change her shoes before her mother saw them and scolded her for ruining them. For some reason she couldn’t make her feet move, couldn’t turn away from this enigmatic man.
“What is your name?” she blurted, ignoring years of proper schooling on etiquette and decorum. One did not ask a man his name. One certainly did not ask a man his name while alone in the dark near the mews.
Surprisingly, the man laughed. She liked his laugh. It was deep and genuine. “What is yours?” he asked.
She smiled at him coyly. “Why won’t you tell me yours?”
“Ah, sweetheart, you’re clever. Always answer a question with a question when trying to find out something from another person. It gives you the upper hand.”
She couldn’t help but smile wider at that reply. He was cagey. He’d also called her “sweetheart” and she should slap him for that. Instead, it sent a funny little tingling sensation all the way down to her toes. No one had called her “sweetheart” before. No one she wanted to, at least.
“Aren’t you going to tell me?” she prodded. She’d never been one to give up when she really wanted something, and tonight she really wanted to know this man’s identity. He was obviously one of the soldiers who’d been invited, or so she guessed, but she wanted hisname.
“Suffice to say I’m someone who enjoys a stroll in a darkened garden more than being cooped up at a ball meant to assuage the guilt of the aristocracy.”
“Assuage the guilt?” She blinked. What in the world did he mean? “Grandmama invited several friends to this party as well as the soldiers.”
“Grandmama?” His dark brows arched. “You live here?” He nodded toward the mansionlike town house.
“Yes, my mother does too.” She shot the hulking edifice a quick glance. Her cheeks warmed. She’d never felt embarrassed to be wealthy before, not even when she’d been at the runners’ office, but suddenly the house seemed ostentatious. Where must this soldier live? Had he ever seen such a grand home before?
